The silent sound of a raindrop trickling down the window

The rain had stopped. For a while, now. And a single raindrop stood poised to take a dive down the windowpane. Patience. A moment of timeless silence... As it waits wordlessly, straining thought and gaining force. It is accumulating mass, gathering together at that spot of captured illumination. Reflection, refraction and internal reflection. Held together by something someone named surface tension.

Surface tension. Waiting to break free from the surface. Or wanting to it to the surface. Tense and quavering, the raindrop stayed. And it let go off the ledge.

There was no explosion. No brute force. No captured momentum bursting into a cannonshot of energy. Silence. And a slow wormlike movement. The raindrop crept down the window.

It urged to go forward. Reach out for the ground in surges. Pushing its forces forward. Hoping to touch gravity. Pulled down by the gravity of its own predicament. It trickled, crawled, halted. Then it thought out.

Strategy. That is always part of reaching the lowermost rung.. the windowsill. And then, it pushed forward. It screeched, and sighed in relief as it carved a space for itself to run through right down the windowpane.

Violence in silence. All violence happens in the deepest of silence. We probably never understood the language.